Everything I've Ever Written Has Been For Me

Everything I’ve ever written has been for me.

Every loud howl imploring you to live into your gifts, to never give up on your longing, to move from your mind down to your hearts.  All of that.  All of that.  All of that.  Is for me. 

 

I need reminding. 

I’ve needed reminding.

These words are mantras that I’ve said out loud into the 2-way mirror of these notes.

And I’ve needed these reminders for many many years.

 

Like when I lost my faith.

And moved through deep existential fear about heaven and hell and salvation and intrinsic shame.

When I chose to end a life.

And the ensuing 10 years of denial, repression, grief, guilt, pain, repression and more repression.

When I had to separate my life from a fiancé.

When I had to separate my life from another fiancé.

And grieve the life I imagined us living, the kids I imagined us raising, the world I imagined we were creating.

When I broke my back.

And was confronted with the deeply held belief that I am not lovable unless I am healthy.

When I watched as doors closed to me during Covid.

And the rage born of deep fear and deep sadness as the web of relationships began to change around me.

When my broken and longing heart for a woman was all I could hear beating in my aching chest.

And the grief and sadness and depression and pain that came with wanting so badly and not having. 

The impossible pregnancy of knowing I have so much to give and offer and inspire and not knowing how, or when, or if, the spaces will emerge for me to unload the full weight of my passion. 

And the ensuing confusion, thoughts of delusion, doubt, being on the brink of abandoning myself, and the all-consuming desire to cope my way out of feeling feeling feeling all of this.

The massive fear and sadness of knowing that I must leave the world as I’ve known it.  For love.  For the love of my life.  Trading, or so I thought, the love for many, for the love of one. 

And the heart-breaking grief of driving over to Greg’s shop, Al and Suzanne’s house, and Becca’s living room to tell them I was leaving.  Leaving all I know.  Leaving them.  Leaving the land.  Leaving the water.  Leaving.  Some super tightly held belief of leaving. 

Then. 

 

I left.

 

 

“Darkness and upheaval always precede an expansion of consciousness.” 

-Some Jung guy. 

 

My imploring’s, my mantras, my typing to you is me trying to honor my lessons.  Honor all that I’ve learned.  And to keep them close.  These are my rosary beads moving between my fingers as I walk home. 

And my life is no extraordinary life. 

It’s a life like yours!

 

A life of longing. 

Of love lost and found and lost again.

Of impossible choice.

Of existential reckoning with the beliefs handed down to you.

Of coping with the pain that comes from living in this wild modern day.

Of knowing there is so much in you that wants to be expressed and the curiosity/confusion of how/when the dammed river of your gifts will ever really flow in the way their meant to.

Of the grief of having to let go of the known, even though its soooo damn close to perfect but yet you know it’s not, and it makes your stomach turn knowing that you are refusing to give up on your destiny and are just about to plunge headfirst into what Carl Jung calls “darkness and upheaval.” 

Because.  You know.  And you don’t know how you know.  That “darkness and upheaval ALWAYS precede an expansion of consciousness.”

And it’s that bone deep, soul deep knowing that buoys you. 

But buoys you not through the darkness and upheaval.   Oh no.  The laws of physics are blown away like a sand mandala during these times.

But it buoys you enough to sail over the edge of the world. 

Buoys you enough to trust the dawn will break.  The sun will rise. 

And one helluva night it will be.  And it might even last 1001 nights. 

And if it does.  Be grateful.  For what’s on the other side?

“An expansion of consciousness.”

Or said another way: LOVE.

Love is what is on the other side. 

And even to say “the other side” is some kind of betrayal to the whole process of becoming. 

They are one in the same.  The darkness and upheaval is the expansion, is the love. 

A day consists of darkness and light. 

As the sun is rising we near closer to darkness.  As the darkness descends we near closer to the light. 

Can I remember this? 

Can I believe this?

Can I enjoy this?

Can, as my hear flutters and knees quake, remember that this great darkness is also great expansion?  So I my walk with trembling confidence into yet another upheaval of expansion?

And if I can’t,

Can you?

Can I look across the surf and chop to you in your boat and see you on the prow, salt soaked and smiling?!

Can I look through the forest to you on your path and see you carrying your pack, slight limp, sweat soaked and smiling?!

So that I may take heart, take faith, take rest and resolve. 

 

Its like the 4 minute mile.

Roger Bannister was the first.

And then after that, within weeks, he was not alone in his impossible feat.  And now there are 10’s of thousands having done “the impossible.”

Can you feel that?

Can you feel that your “darkness and upheaval” and its ensuing “expansion of consciousness” is not just yours?  Not just for you?

So, as I live my life, as I recite my mantras, write my posts, remind myself, I do this for me.  And I do this for you.  And I do this for the great mystery that connects us to each other.

So that when I see you with some kind of queer faith and sparkle in your eye as the world around you looks to be crumbling, I can be reminded of the truth.  The great truth. 

That I do not need to turn and run from the crumbling, but in fact, the crumbling is a gift.  And requires patience to unwrap. 

 

What do you think?

Do you believe any of this?

Do you believe we’re connected?

Do you believe that “darkness and upheaval always precede an expansion of consciousness”?

Do you believe me when I say “everything I’ve ever written has been for me”?

 

My prayer is that as I support myself, it supports you.  Because.  I know that when you are supporting yourself, it supports me. 

Even when it disappoints me.  But, that’s another post for another morning.